


fists up, bloody knuckled

by behindenemylines



Category: Rocketman (2019)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, Hatred, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Referenced Murder-Suicide, based strictly on the film portrayals and not the real people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29105070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindenemylines/pseuds/behindenemylines
Summary: Things were easier back when they were just a couple of kids trying to write a hit song.
Relationships: Elton John/John Reid, one sided Elton John/Bernie Taupin
Kudos: 7





	fists up, bloody knuckled

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh so I wrote this like a year and a half ago and it’s just been sitting in my phone’s notes ever since. I kinda gave up on it at the end but I’m tired of it taking up space so here we are. 
> 
> If anyone out there decides to read this, please enjoy and mind the tags.

Things were easier back when they were just a couple of kids trying to write a hit song. Sitting in his childhood bedroom, coming up with creative insults for Dick and making each other laugh. Now Bernie can’t look at him without sadness lingering in his eyes. Hell, Elton can’t even look at himself these days without the aid of hard drugs. It seems like he can’t do most things without the drugs anymore. It’s the coke that sits in front of a piano and cranks out the hits. It’s the heroin that goes out and performs for the world, show after show. He’s really nothing more than a conduit. 

He used to be able to play without them, back in the beginning, but that was before. 

Before the fame, before John, before Bernie’s sad, sad eyes. Bernie used to smile all the time, before, and fuck if he didn’t look fucking radiant, his face open and happy and always so fucking beautiful it used to hurt Elton to look at him. Now looking at him hurts for entirely different reasons and it’s all Elton’s fault. But he doesn’t know how to make things right again, or if he even can. Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s all too fucked up. He’s too fucked up.

His head is always fuzzy, always dark, and when he blinks, he finds that days have gone by without him realizing. Sometimes John is sitting opposite him when he comes to, annoyance clear in his manager’s voice when he has to repeat himself because Elton can’t understand a damn thing he’s just said. Elton can feel his own temper flare when John wears that knowing sneer, like he understands fuck all of what’s going on inside Elton’s head. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to clock that bastard in the mouth because it’s definitely not worth the bruises he’d have to cover up—even if the thought of John’s blood on his knuckles fills him with savage glee. 

It’s always so much worse when his high fades and Bernie is the one staring back at him. Looking worried and confused but far too nice to tell Elton to get his shit together already. His pretty face is always marred by a frown these days, and it sets Elton’s heart aching that he’s the cause of it. He’d much rather face a lifetime of John’s arrogance than even one minute of Bernie’s disappointment because that would hurt so much less. He thinks about quitting the booze and the drugs in his more lucid moments. Thinks about walking the straight-and-narrow; thinks about getting clean. But he’s in the deep end now, and he’s never been a particularly strong swimmer. It’s easier to simply let himself drown. 

He just hates that he’s dragging poor Bernie down with him. But he’s selfish—always has been. He wants Bernie by his side, even if he doesn’t deserve it, because he’s so goddamn scared of being alone. That’s probably why he puts up with John’s shit as much as he does, if he’s being honest. 

He sees the way Bernie’s eyes scan over every new bruise or bite mark. The pity in that blue gaze makes him burn with humiliation and anger and he lashes out before he can stop himself. Elton’s not proud of reacting like that towards his dearest friend, but his temper always gets the best of him. Bernie doesn’t deserve to be attacked for caring about him—especially when he seems to be the only person on this godforsaken planet who actually does. John certainly doesn’t give a shit about him, and he reminds Elton of that fact with every cruel word that falls from his poisonous tongue. With every too-tight grip on his forearms when John holds him down while they fuck, fingers digging into his skin painfully. 

His and John’s relationship, if it can even be called that, is fucked up and Bernie is the only one who seems to care. Bernie’s completely immune to John’s charm—something even Elton still falls for in his weaker moments—and therefore can’t be easily manipulated, which pisses John off endlessly. It would almost be funny, if it didn’t lead to John doing his damndest to phase Bernie out of Elton’s life. Just like he pushed out Ray—yet another thing to resent him for. Ray was such a lovely person and Elton was truly sad to see him gone. But what’s done is done and Ray probably wouldn’t want to see Elton again anyway and, frankly, Elton can’t blame him. 

Elton honestly doesn’t know what he’d do if John succeeded in completely isolating him. Probably kill the bastard and then himself in some kind of fucked up murder-suicide that would leave the tabloids buzzing for weeks after. It’s almost tempting, when he thinks about it in his more maudlin moments. 

The only thing that’s really stopping him from legging it to the nearest gun store is Bernie. Beautiful, talented, too kind for his own good Bernie. 

Because as much as Elton hates John, hates himself, he’ll always love Bernie more.


End file.
